


Insight

by BloodyAbattoir



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Galbatorix Isn't Evil, Headcanon, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Retcon, Worldbuilding, canon character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: What if Galbatorix wasn't evil, but just misguided? What if the original Riders weren't as pure as we were led to believe?





	Insight

**Author's Note:**

> So Paolini hasn't yet touched on what the world was like before Galbatorix came to power to any great extent, aside from a few vague mentions. This is a bit of my own take on it, and is probably more than just a little warped.
> 
> This is based off many people online having posed the question of what if Galbatorix wasn't the big bad villain that we all thought he was. This is especially likely if you took into account the fact that in the Inheritance Cycle, dragons supposedly never stop growing. 
> 
> Logically, they would have needed immense amounts of food, which the peasants may or may not have provided willingly, and they likely would've damaged the environment at least somewhat due to excrement, fire-breathing, and uprooting or otherwise damaging trees from sharpening claws, knocking them over with a tail or wing, etc. hunting wildlife to near extinction, and possibly accidentally killing people by landing on them. 
> 
> In addition, during the series, one of the main reasons given for the supposed evilness of the king is his drafting of so many men into his army to fight the 'rebels'. Theoretically, as we are given little information about the time before the Fall, Galbatorix may have actually been some sort of a misguided hero. This story plays with that theory a bit . 
> 
> This is beginning when Galbatorix would have been a young boy, somewhere between 5-9 years of age. At this time, our "favorite" Shade is already alive, and rather Shady, as hinted at by Brom's tale in the beginning of 'Eragon'. However, no matter how scrawny or Shady he becomes, Durza will never be the REAL "Slim Shady".

For as long as the boy could remember, hunger had been a near constant. Sometimes, it would be pushed mostly out of his mind, a faint nagging of his stomach that was easily ignored as he engaged himself in some task that little boys his age found utterly absorbing. Far more often, however, it was a force to be reckoned with, and nothing under the sky could possibly come close to it.  In these times, nothing could distract him from it, even for a few moments.

 

More often than not, this constant hunger would awaken him late at night, long after the embers of the fire pit had burned themselves out. When the boy was younger, he would beg his parents for food. Anything would do. A crust of bread, or a scrap of tough meat. If he were desperate, a bone with whatever was left on it. Yet as much as they wished that they could, his parents were rarely able to give him anything at all, being in the same predicament as him.

 

As he began to grow older, and gain more of a sense of the world around him, he began to realize that it was not solely his family that were living hand to mouth, if that. Rather, he seemed to know none that had ever had a reprieve from the beast known as hunger for more than a few hours at a time. None other than the Dragon Riders, who would come once a year with eggs, seeking new Riders.

 

He was too young to even be considered, and he would continue to be too young to line up with the other youths of his village for several more years, provided that he made it that far. It was unlikely, considering how scarce food was.

 

It seemed that for all the crops planted, little was ever harvested, and for all the livestock born in a year, few ever made it onto the tables of the peasants. For all the people that died of accidents, illnesses, or plain old age, at least double the number would die of hunger. One winter, so many died of starvation, that they had to be stacked up like firewood until the ground had thawed enough for them to be buried. The memory of these stacks of bodies with limbs like thin sticks would haunt the boy for the rest of his life. Some of them were people that he had known, other children that he had played with.

 

As the boy grew a little older still, he began to question what lay across the sea, at the stronghold of the Riders. What sort of livestock must they have, to keep both themselves and their dragons so well fed? What sort of enchantments must they use to harvest enough grains as to not only be satisfied, but as to have the odd fat rider or two?

 

The more that he thought about it, the more that he wanted to join the Riders. He'd already lost his mother to hunger, and in his young mind, if he ever joined the Riders, he would be able to save his father from the same fate.

 

Unfortunately for him, by the time that he was finally old enough to be considered for the privilege of potentially hatching a dragon egg, the boy had lost both parents to starvation, and he hardly knew anyone who still had both parents, let alone much of an extended family. At the great formal ceremony that they had, he had no one cheering for him, no one waiting with bated breath.

 

He shuffled in the line that limped along like a wounded animal, the youths of his area who had survived the harsh life thus far touching the eggs one after another, hoping against hope to be chosen. Finally, the youth made his way to the front of the table that held the precious objects that shone in the frosty spring air like polished jewels. He laid one grubby hand on the smooth surface, his dirt encrusted nails incongruous at best against the cold surface.

 

The green egg didn't so much as twitch. He sighed, and moved onto the next egg, and then the one after that. None gave any indication of choosing him. Finally, a burnt orange colored egg at the end gave an audible crack when he touched it.

 

The crowd froze, and not a single sound could be heard, not a single voice whispering. The wind tearing at the threadbare clothing of the peasants gathered was painfully loud

 

A small squeak issued from the egg, followed by another crack forming. The boy jumped back at this, jerking his hand away like he'd touched a hot bed of coals. While he knew how a dragon was supposed to hatch, he couldn't for the life of him remember witnessing a hatching before.

 

The egg began to rock back and forth, dislodging tiny chips of coppery orange shell. A more persistent squeak issued from the egg. This time, a very large chunk of the shell broke off, raising up on the top of a triangular snout.

 

A face the color of the sun hovering mere inches above the horizon peeked out of the egg, intently eyeing the crowd.

 

"Congratulations, boy! You've hatched a dragon! What is your name?" One of the Riders present asked him.

 

"Galbatorix."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kind of weird, drawn out prologue, sorry, but I needed to set up for the good stuff that will follow. Also, for a pseudo-medieval world, Galbatorix may seem fairly old (middle aged for today) to be taking over a country, but according to the timelines/ages we are given, he has been in power for 100+ years in the books but looks to be in his 40s. Also, according to the wiki, it looks like Morzan was already 90+ years old when he spawned everyone's favorite emo kid.


End file.
